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Ther. You fee him there, do you?
Achil. Ay, what's the matter?
Ther. Nay, look upon him.

Achil. So I do, what's the matter?

Ther. Nay, but regard him well.

Achil. Well, why, I do fo.

Ther. But yet you look not well upon him; for who

foever you take him to be, he is Ajax.

Achil. I know that, fool.

Ther. Ay, but that fool knows not himself.
Ajax. Therefore I beat thee.

[Beating him. Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters; his evasions have ears thus long. I have bobb'd his brain more than he has beat my bones: I will buy nine fparrows for a penny, and his Pia Mater is not worth the ninth part of a fparrow. This Lord, (Achilles) Ajax, who wears his wit in his belly, and his guts in his head, I'll tell you what I fay of him.

Achil. What?

[Ajax offers to frike him, Achilles interpofes.

Ther. I fay, this Ajax.

Achil. Nay, good Ajax.

Ther. Has not fo much wit

Achil. Nay, good Ajax.

Ther. As will flop the eye of Helen's needle, for

whom he comes to fight.

Achil. Peace, fool!

Ther. I would have peace and quietnefs, but the fool will not he there, that he, look you there.

Ajax. O thou damn'd cur, I fhall

Achil. Will

your wit to a fool's?

you set your

Ther. No, I warrant you, for a fool's will fhame it. Pat. Good words, Therfites.

Achil. What's the quarrel?

Ajax. I bad the vile owl go learn me the tenour of the proclamation, and he rails upon me.

Ther. I ferve thee not.

Ajax. Well, go to, go to.

VOL. VI.

C

Ther.

Ther. I ferve here voluntary.

Achil. Your laft fervice was fufferance, 'twas not voluntary, no man is beaten voluntary; Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an imprefs.

Ther. Ev'n fo-a great deal of your wit too lyes in your finews, or elfe there be liars. Hector fhall have a great catch, if he knock out either of your brains; he were as good crack a fufty nut with no kernel.

Achil. What, with me too, Therfites?

Ther. There's Ulyffes, and old Neftor, (whofe wit was mouldy ere your grandfires had nails on their toes,) yoke you like draft oxen, and make you plough up the

war.

Achil. What! what!

Ther. Yes good footh, to Achilles, to Ajax, to

Ajax. I fhall cut out your tongue.

Ther. 'Tis no matter, I fhall fpeak as much as thou afterwards.

Pat. No more words, Therfites.

Ther. I will hold my peace when Achilles' brach bids me, fhall I?

Achil. There's for you, Patroclus.

Ther. I will fee you hang'd like clodpoles, ere I come any more to your tents. I will keep where there is wit ftirring, and leave the faction of fools.

Pat. A good riddance.

[Exit.

Achil. Marry this, Sir, is proclaim'd through all our hoft, That Hedor, by the fifth hour of the fun,

Will with a trumpet, 'twixt our tents and Troy,

To-morrow morning call fome Knight to arms,
That hath a ftomach, fuch a one that dares
Maintain-I know not what; 'tis trafh; farewel!
Ajax. Farewel! who fhall anfwer him?

Achil. I know not, 'tis put to lott'ry; otherwise
He knew his man.

Ajax. O, meaning you: I'll go learn more of it. [Exe. 4 their... old edit. Theob. emend.

SCENE

SCENE III.

Priam's Palace in Troy.

Enter Priam, Hector, Troilus, Paris, and Helenus.

Pri. A Fter fo many hours, lives, speeches spent,

Thus once again fays Neftor from the Greeks:

Deliver Helen, and all damage elfe

(As honour, loss of time, travel, expence,
Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is confum'd
In hot digeftion of this cormorant war)

Shall be ftruck off. Hector, what fay you to't?
Helt. Though no man leffer fears the Greeks than I,
As far as touches my particular; yet

There is no Lady of more fofter bowels,
More fpungy to fuck in the fenfe of fear,
More ready to cry out, who knows what follows?
Than Hector is. The 'worm of peace is furety,
Surety fecure; but modeft doubt is call'd
The beacon of the wife; the tent that searches
To th' bottom of the wound. Let Helen go.
Since the firft fword was drawn about this queftion,
Ev'ry tithe foul 'mongst many thoufand difmes
Hath been as dear as Helen. I mean of ours.
If we have loft fo many tenths of ours
To guard a thing not ours, nor worth to us
(Had it our name) the value of one ten;
What merit's in that reason, which denies
The yielding of her up?

Troi. Fie, fie, my brother:

Weigh you the worth and honour of a King

So great as our dread father in a scale

Of common ounces? will you with counters sum
The vaft proportion of his infinite?

C 2

And

7 wound

8 worst.

old edit. Warb, emend.

And buckle in a waste, most fathomlefs,
With fpans and inches fo diminutive

As fears and reafons? fie for godly fhame!

Hel. No marvel, tho' you bite fo sharp at reasons,
You're empty of them. Should not our father Priam
Bear the great fway of his affairs with reafons,
Because your speech hath none that tells him fo?
Troi. You are for dreams and flumbers, brother priest,
You fur your gloves with reafons. Here are your reafons.
You know an enemy intends you harm,

You know a fword imploy'd is perilous,
And reafon flies the object of all harm.
Who marvels then when Helenus beholds
A Grecian and his fword, if he do fet
The very wings of reafon to his heels,
And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove,

Or like a ftar dis-orb'd?-Nay, if we talk of reafon,
Let's fhut our gates, and fleep: manhood and honour
Shall have hare-hearts, would they but fat their thoughts
With this cramm'd reafon: reason and respect
Make livers pale, and luftyhood deject.

Het. Brother, fhe is not worth what fhe doth coft
The holding.

Troi. What is ought, but as 'tis valu'd?

Hect. But value dwells not in particular will,

It holds its eftimate and dignity

As well wherein 'tis precious of it self,

As in the prizer: 'tis mad idolatry,

To make the service greater than the God;
And the will dotes, that is inclinable
To what infectiously it self affects,
Without fome image of 9'th' affected's` merit.
Troi. I take to-day a wife, and my election
Is led on in the conduct of my will;
My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears,
Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous fhores
Of will and judgment. How may I avoid

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(Although

(Although my will diftafte what is elected) The wife I chufe? there can be no evasion

To blench from this, and to ftand firm by honour.
We turn not back the filks upon the merchant
When we have fpoil'd them; nor th' remainder viands
We do not throw in unrefpective place,

Because we now are full. It was thought meet
Paris fhould do fome vengeance on the Greeks:
Your breath of full confent bellied his fails;
The feas and winds (old wranglers) took a truce,
And did him service he touch'd the ports defir'd;
And for an old aunt whom the Greeks held captive,
He brought a Grecian Queen whofe youth and freshness
Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes ftale the morning.
Why keep we her? the Grecians keep our aunt:
Is the worth keeping? why, fhe is a pearl,
Whofe price hath launch'd above a thousand ships,
And turn'd crown'd Kings to merchants-
If you'll avouch 'twas wifdom Paris went,
(As you must needs, for you all cry'd, go, go:)
If you'll confefs he brought home noble prize,
(As you must needs, for you all clap'd your hands
And cry'd, inestimable ;) why d' you now
The iffue of your proper wifdoms rate,
And do a deed that fortune never did,
Beggar that estimation which you priz'd
Richer than fea and land? O theft moft bafe!
''What we have ftol'n, That we do fear to keep!
Bafe thieves, unworthy of a thing fo ftol'n!
*What in their country did them that disgrace,
We fear to warrant in our native place.
Caf. [within.] Cry, Trojans, cry!

Pri. What noife? what fhriek is this?

Troi. 'Tis our mad fifter, I do know her voice.
Caf. [within.] Cry, Trojans!"

Helt. It is Caffandra.

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: That we have ftoln what we do fear to keep

SCENE

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